Natalia Romanoff
by singingelephants
Summary: Natasha Romanoff had a daughter but gave her up for adoption in order to save her from the Red Room. The girl, however, is curious about her parentage. What will happen when the Red Room finds Natalia's location and she is forced to learn about who she really is?
1. Chapter 1

Hello. This is my first time publishing any of my work so please comment and let me know whether I should continue. I don't own any of the characters whose names you might recognize, only the story is mine. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy.

For an orphan, there is no bigger question in life than: Why?

In movies, books, history class, and just about anything else imaginable, you hear about happy families and loved children who accomplish great things together, so why? Why not me?

Most every orphan asks themselves questions about their origins and why their parents decided that they simply did not want them, except, of course, if they know their parents are dead, which opens up another list of overly complicated interrogatory remarks. That, however, is not my case. I knew my parents were alive, at least according to the nuns. They have repeatedly told me (since I kept asking) that I was left at the orphanage by my mother when I was three months old. That is all they ever told me. I didn't know what she looked like, who she was, and, most importantly, I didn't know why.

My name is Natalia, I am fifteen years old. I have bright red hair and green eyes. Just another poor orphan waiting out the last three years of intellectual imprisonment until I can get out of here and start investigating who I am. Turns out, however, that would not have to wait that long.

It was a sunny Saturday morning, and I was walking outside in the backyard, when a man approached me, accompanied by Sister Catherine. This struck me as strange, for we don't usually have many visitors, most specially, visitors who are interested in me. When they reached me, the man introduced himself as Phil Coulson and asked if it would be alright for us to speak alone, and after the head nun left, he began to speak again.

"Its very nice to meet you in person Miss Romanoff."

Romanoff? I wondered, but didn't dare to ask out laud.

Phil, as I would later come to know him, then proceeded to explain to me that he belonged to a secret organization, which was very interested in me, due to my parentage.

"I am afraid Miss, that, though I would have loved to meet you in better circumstances, that is not the case. You are in grave danger, and I will need to you to accompany me to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters." And, with those words, I was sent to my room to pack my meager belongings.

By the time I had reached the room that I shared with three other girls, the frozen stage of shock had gone by, and I began to analyze my situation. This man had mentioned my parents. He said that they worked for a secret organization. The realization then hit me that, if I was going to their headquarters, then I might even get to meet them, and perhaps even ask them "Why?"

So I began to pack my clothes and belongings into a duffel, all the while with a sour-sweet taste in my mouth, for, now that there was a possibility of finding out who my parents were, I felt unsure of even wanting to meet them. I felt afraid of finding answers to questions that I perhaps should not have asked.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you very much for reading my story and I hope that you are enjoying it. Not all updates will be this quickly, but since the beginning was so short… Any way, I don't own anything and please PLEASE give me your feed back. Thank you.

—After a short car ride and a long plane ride, agent Coulson and I arrived at what appeared to be the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. The trip there was a quiet one. I found myself to be overflown with questions, yet lacking the courage and words in which to express them. When we walked in I was mesmerized. I had never seen a room which looked as futuristic as this one. There were people working with computers everywhere, while others ran around doing whatever it is they were in charge of. Just then, I couldn't help wondering which one of the busy agents could be my mother, which one my father, or if they were even present at the room. With this thoughts my mind leaped out of itself with excitement and fear.

The agent then led me to an office, where he said that I would speak with a director Fury, apparently, the man who had sent him to collect me. When I was called inside, I made a point of opening the door cautiously and studying my surroundings. The office appeared to be designed in good taste, yet lived in. The furniture were well organized but there were papers all over the desk, and several books piled on a table by the couch. The director himself looked to be a rough man, with a patch over his eye, and some scars surrounding it, a fighting wound probably, since he was a secret agent.

As soon as I walked into the office, he invited me to sit down on the couch and offered me tea or coffee. I decided to ask for a water instead and he was kind enough to provide it for me, then he began to talk. He told me that I was being tracked down by an organization called the Red Room. "Which is why we have brought you here, in order to keep you save from them." When I asked, he refused to explain what the Red Room was, but he did volunteer one more bit of information.

"Your mother doesn't yet know that you are here, or anything about you for that matter, but we will tell her tomorrow. There is no one better than Natasha to deal with the Red Room." He took in a deep breath and let it out before continuing "As for your father, I am not yet sure it would be a good idea to tell him" After that, I was escorted to a room in the facilities and expected to go to sleep, which was, of course, impossible at the moment, so I settled for recounting all of the information in my head.

Natasha. Natasha Romanoff?

Tomorrow I would find out. Tomorrow would be the day when I would finally meet my mother. I felt my stomach flutter with a mixture of emotions. Would she like me? Would she even want to meet me? My mother is a secret agent, an important person who deals with important things, and then there's me, just a girl who has done nothing but exist in her fifteen years of life. To sum to that argument, there is also the fact that Natasha left me at an orphanage, which must mean that she clearly did not want to raise a daughter. Why would she change her mind now?

I went to bed that night, longing for a person I had never known, and wishing for the acceptance of someone who, I thought, might never want to give me the chance.

—I did not sleep much that night. Early in the morning, an agent went to get me from my room, and took me to a sort of cafeteria so that I could have breakfast. I got my food, and sat at a table alone. I wasn't able to eat even a fourth of what I put on the plate, since I was, again, almost paralyzed with fear. After breakfast, I joined director Fury again in his office. He informed me that my mother had just come back from a mission and that she would be with us shortly. I then sat down, quietly, to wait, doing the exact opposite of my mind, which was screaming. Today. In a couple of minutes I would meet my mother. I felt my heart leap to my throat when two agents entered the room. One of them, a woman with bright red hair, like my own. I tried to get in as much as possible while Fury spoke to her. I wanted to know her, know every detail about her before she even directed her words at me. I could immediately recognize that I resemble her in physic, if not in character. She walked with an air of confidence and kept a firm face. She only glanced at me as she entered and then began to speak to Fury, seemingly about the mission. Her voice was smooth yet had a rough edge to it, and was slightly laced with an accent that I could not place (you don't meet a great variety of people with accents at an orphanage). After a short while of talking, the other agent walked out of the office, and Fury asked Natasha to stay. They both sat down on the couch perpendicular to the one I was using and he began to gently overtake the subject, reminiscent of when one is opening an old wound.

"Natasha, we appear to be having some more trouble with the Red Room."

"Have they captured any girls?"

"No. This time they are trying to acquire a girl with a very specific set of genetics."

With these words, both their eyes drifted to me, and, upon looking at my red hair and green eyes, I saw a flicker of fear cross Natasha's eyes. It was gone quickly of course, so quickly that I thought I might have imagined it, but I had not. And that was enough for me to know that she needed no more explanations, she knew who I was.

I stared at her silently, not daring to utter a word. The director apparently noticed as well, that she had figured out who I was, because he took a long pause, and then began speaking again, at a much lower tone.

"I'm sorry I'm doing this to you, but we cant let the Red Room get their hands on another black widow, and you would be the best candidate to protect her. It is only a mission, if you wish it to be."

I listed intently, my life hung on her every breath, waiting for her to part her lips and change my life with a single word. She was staring at me then, her eyes were the color of mine, but.. different, deeper somehow. They were young in beauty and grace, yet looked to be a thousand, as if they had seen a lot of sadness and could no longer be lit up with a smile.

For the longest time it seemed that she would never answer, until she blinked twice and straitened herself. Her countenance changed to a more 'closed look', if that makes sense, and she looked towards the director.

"Of course, what are my orders?"

The director seemed to slightly deflate at her words, and I felt my heart crushing within me.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you soooo much to the person that submitted the review, I am glad that you like it so far, and I hope to not disappoint you with the rest of the story. Please keep reviewing. I don't own anything. Thank you.

I wanted to feel angry. I wanted to hate her for having abandoned me at an orphanage all those years ago, and I wanted to be as unaffected by her presence, as she appeared to be about mine. That, however, was not the case. As we traveled together in a car, on our way to the safe house. I continued to make up excuses in my head. I must have invented a million reasons why she felt obliged to leave me with the nuns, but none for why she acted indifferent towards me now. There was an absolute silence in the car. My companion had not played any music, and, aside for the occasional glance my way, I would have believed that she forgot I was there. After a half hour of this, I resigned myself to the circumstances, and slowly drifted to sleep. It was already dark outside when I woke up, and I felt slightly disoriented, the way one does when waking up from an unexpected nap. The door on my side of the car was being opened, and into my line of sight moved the woman with the deep green eyes. My eyesight was still drowsy from sleep, and my eyes were half closed, when the woman gently moved the hair from my face and looked at me tenderly. When she saw me blink myself out of the sleep like state, the look in her eyes sobered, and her face regained its unreadable sternness . She instructed me to collect my things and then guided me to my room, so that I could unpack, for the second time in the past two days.

The room was of medium size and equipped only with the basic furniture (not that I was used to anything different). There was a bed with a nightstand, and a desk with a chair tucked in front, everything in a creamy off-white tone. In its simplicity, it looked incredibly beautiful.

After I was done unpacking I returned to the living room, which was decorated in a similar manner. Natasha offered me a sandwich and then left me to eat it alone, while she checked that all the security measures were functioning properly.

She was back to treating me coldly again, almost making me believe that the way her eyes studied me when she thought me asleep, was only my imagination, wishful thinking. I did not see her again that night. I spent my time exploring the house, walking into every room and through every corridor. There was a fairly large library, a kitchen, and one extra room. There was only one other door left to open, but that one, which I assumed led to my mother's room, was under key.

"How did you sleep?"

The next morning, during breakfast, I took it upon myself to start a conversation. Natasha looked at me, slightly startled, but the emotion only lasted a second. (I was beginning to notice a pattern.)

"I did not sleep"

Honest. Interesting...

"Could I ask why?"

"No."

Of course not...

After a long silence, I decided to try again.

"What are the plans for today?"

"I will be conducting some investigations in the library. You may do whatever you wish, as long as you stay within the grounds."

"Could I see what you're working on?"

"No."

Why did I even asked? I sighed loudly.

I saw the upper corner of lip turn upwards. Is she smiling? And, when she suddenly turned serious again, I noticed I had asked that out-loud.

I finally decided that I would join her at the library. I picked out a fiction novel and began to read it, but, by the time I had reached the third page, I noticed that I had not been paying attention. I had, on the other hand, been observing my mother. My mother. She looked beautiful. She studied some files intently and looked at two different monitors. She must be investigating the Red Room, whatever it was. That too was very intriguing. I was coming to realize that my life had completely changed in a matter of days and that I could barely understand half of what was happening.

"You're not reading"

What? Right. The book. It was the first time she had began a conversation with me. That gave my optimistic mind, a flutter of hope... and a lot more bravery than I knew I could posses.

"I was watching you... I always wondered what my mother looked like."

Her head snapped up, and I suddenly regretted saying what I said, but before I could try to redeem myself, she looked back down at her file. She seemed sad, in a profound sort of way, like someone who has suffered a great loss, but, in a second, it was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

A month was spent in the same manner as the first day. I occupied myself with books and exploring the house, and my mother ignored me as much as physically possible. She did not speak to me unless I asked her a question first, and, even then, her answers were vague and short. Her face was, as always, emotionless, but every now and then I would delight myself with noticing a small upwards tweak of her lip or a single gentle tear threatening to fall from her eye. They were small signs of actual human emotion, but as I began to expect them, they turned into the only thing that brought joy to my mostly eventless days. The tweak of the lip never reached a full smile, of course, nor did the tear ever fall, but they were the sort of things that most people would not notice, the sort of thing most people would not be waiting for, they were a sign that my mother cared, or so I would try to convince myself of every night before bed. I am, after all, still an optimist. There was something about those micro emotions that still boggled my mind, however. They showed a sadness so deep... they made me realize that I barely knew anything about my mother, and they made me wonder about her past. How could someone as beautiful and life-full as she seemed to be, have eyes that seemed so heavy with unshed tears?

That morning Natasha seemed uncharacteristically restless. She looked at her phone every little while, and she moved around the house trying to keep herself busy. She tried to give the appearance of normality but I noticed the absence of her usually stoic, calm demeanor.

"Are you okay?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Never mind.." I sighed, flustered by her constant need to hide her emotions.

She then searched my face with her eyes, in a strange way. A different way. It was almost as if she was looking at me, yet searching for someone else. Whether she found that person or not, I would not find out, because right at that moment her phone rang, and she picked it up with a sense of urgency.

"Is he okay?... yes."

There was a long pause. She began to look relieved, but then her eyes widened for a fraction of a second and she began to look worried again.

"Don't tell him you called me... say that you sent me in a top secret mission and cannot compromise my location..."

"I don't know Fury you are the one that suggested things should go the way they did, its too late to turn back now."

I noticed how she stressed the word suggest, and that she was speaking to the director. Who could it be that she was so worried about, yet refused to speak with?

She continued to glance at me as she spoke, and, after a quick goodby, she hung up, and stormed into the room that she always kept locked.

I could not stop myself from being curious. Why was she so secretive. I would give anything for just a simple hint, a clue to who she is as a person, who she was.

She did not come out of the room until nighttime, so I was forced to distract myself all day. I would usually have followed her, to any other room, but not that one. It was, I suppose, a sort of unspoken rule. She never said that I could not go in, but, no matter how much I wanted a glimpse at her private life, I would not dare intrude into her room.

Sorry I have taken so long to write another chapter, but school just started again and that has kept me both, incredibly busy, and uninspired. I hope that you enjoy the chapter, and please review. Who do you think Natasha was talking about on the phone?

I will try to update at least once a week from now on. Thank you and bye.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry I took so long to update. I was in one of the places that hurricane Irma passed through, and, though it did not hit us directly, I did loose internet and electricity for a bit of time. I was considering pausing this story, since I came up with another idea (which could be considered a prequal to this one), but I decided to continue it since a couple of people have apparently liked it and asked me for more chapters. (Which is an honor. Thank you very much. You have no idea how happy that makes me.)**

The next morning, Natasha did something that she had never done before. She received a call (seemingly work related, judging by her tone and countenance), and told me to keep the doors locked and to not go outside, since she had to go check on something. It was the first time she left me alone. As the morning turned to afternoon, I had nothing to entertain myself with, so I sat at the kitchen, doodling away on a napkin when the phone began to ring. I suddenly felt a surge of curiosity and the little voice of my subconscious whispered that I should take the call. It was already on its third ring and about to go to voicemail so I had to act fast, after all, my mother said nothing about not answering the phone.

"Tasha?" The voice questioned with alarm evident in the tone.

"She is not here right now"

"Who is this?"

I didn't know how to respond, and began to think that answering the phone had probably been a very stupid idea.

"Hello? Who is this?"

In that exact moment Natasha entered the house, and I felt every fiber of my being twitch in fear. I did not believe her capable of harming me, but the sole idea of disappointing her or making her angry made me feel desperate. I barely knew anything about my mother, but her acceptance was worth the world to me.

"Who are you talking to?"

As I did not answer, she took the phone from me and repeated the question.

"I have told you not to call me" she barked after, I assume, the intruder gave her an explanation.

There was was silence on this side of the line and I saw my mothers eyes well up with tears, and, to my surprise, this time they did fall.

"Clint don't call me again." And she hung up.

I looked around the room. The details on the curtains suddenly seemed extremely interesting .

I felt her stare on me, but avoided her gaze , this was the sort of situation to which I had no idea how to respond. After a moment she walked away, without uttering a single word, and that felt even worse than if she had exploded in anger.

The next morning, she sat with me to breakfast, and I slowly worked up the courage to intrude a bit further into her life: not an easy feat.

"Are you okay?"

Her gaze shot up from where she was staring at her plate, and I felt my insides freeze once more.

"I'm alright"

I sighed. No matter how hard I tried, it seemed to be impossible to break through her walls. Then she raised her eyes again, and looked at me in that way that she often does, which, only for a second, makes her look miserably sad.

"You can tell me... if something is wrong. I wouldn't tell anyone. Even if I wanted to, there is no one I could tell."

"You shouldn't worry about me"

"I'm not worried, I just-" I tried to defend myself but she cut me off.

"Despite what you may like to think, I am not the sort of person that deserves your care or worry"

"Everyone deserves to be cared for-"

"Not me"

"What could you have done that was so bad?"

She stayed quite for a moment. A long moment. Long enough that I believed she would not speak again.

"I have done a lot of things, but none that I regret as much as.."

"As much as what?"

Then she looked down at her plate again, and when she looked back up, the same old stoic expression covered her face, and I knew my battle was lost. She stood up from the table:

"I need some air. Don't go outside."

And she left.

Two more months passed before Natasha even glanced at me again. That is, I have figured, how it works with her: one step forward, two back.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and the sun filtered through the window curtains giving the house a lively, homey appearance. It seemed as if everything was perfect with the world but, as it often happens, that only means that everything will go downhill.

First I heard the banging on the door. The thundering raping of someone unwilling to wait. Someone who meant business. My first instinct was to call for my mother, but, before the words could slide from my lips, she came running behind me and grabbed me by the arm. The speed at which she pulled me with her, and the strength of her grip made me feel disoriented, which, I suppose, could also have been brought on by the intense feeling of fear and nervousness that was nagging at the pit of my stomach. I knew, even before Natasha told me, that these people were here to kill us.

Natasha used a vase to break through a window, and, before we could jump out, in came crawling two women wearing catsuits and fearsome looks upon their faces. My mother pushed me towards her room, the one that was always locked, and shut the door closed behind her, positioning herself in front of it.

I felt dizzy, sick, every time I moved I would feel everything within me shift. I heard the struggling outside the door. Every few seconds someone would be banged against it, and I couldn't help wondering whether I would loose my mother before I ever fully got her back.

Another sickening sound of struggle echoed through the room, and I heard my heart palpitating out of my chest. The world around me started spinning, I caught glimpses of files, papers, many papers. I saw a bed, and another thrust sounded from the door, making my breathing speed up. Glass was shattering somewhere in the house. I heard a bang that sounded like the front door breaking loose of the hinges and crashing into the living room. My heart rate skyrocketed. It was deafening, I could hear it louder and louder and LOUDER until it was the only thing I could hear. THUMP-THUMP THUMP-THUMP. My vision clouded again. Amongst the papers I spotted something, THUMP-THUMP the only spark of color in the otherwise colorless room. THUMP-THUMP Red. Like my mother's hair, like my hair. Red like apples. THUMP-THUMP Red like blood. But it wasn't blood, it was soft, like silk, yet firm at the same time. It was the only thing that kept me grounded in reality, the only thing that gave me hope. I found the only color within my mother's room, like I sought to find the only sliver of love that could be found within her, hoping it would be love for me.

THUMP- THUMP THUMP-THUMP

I held the red silk within my hands hugging it, trying to decipher what it was while my eyes clouded with tears and something more, blots of black that interrupted the image and did not let me decipher what I saw. THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP All the while my heart continued to beat faster and faster, and for a second I wondered whether it would explode. Then I heard another strike at the door, and dared to peak, in hope that I could see something. My vision cleared for just about a millisecond, enough to see an arrow that had gone through the door, and into the wall next to me. An arrow. Then everything turned dark.

 **I know it is not very long, but I hope that you like it. I will try to make the next one longer. Please review :)**

 **Important: At the end of the chapter, I was trying to make it seem as if she were having abpanic attack. I don't know whether I did a good job, or whether that was even appropriate for the circumstances, but I think that it will fit with the story. I am sorry if anyone dislikes my putting it there. Please bear with me :) (I do not have any experience with panic attacks, nor do I have a medical degree)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi. I know tgis chapter is really short. I just felt like posting something new. Please continue to comment and I'll continue to write. I expect to update pretty soon. And, again, thank you sooooooo much to those of you who have commented.**

I woke up to the sound of a mechanical beeping. Next came the blinding light and the confusion of not knowing where I was. Slowly, the light began to define itself into shapes and colors, and I was able to, at least, partly decipher my surroundings. I was on a comfortable bed with a brown quilt laid over me. Not a hospital, yet there was medical equipment connected to my body, not much, only a heart monitor.

I slowly drifted my head to the side, and that is when I saw it. A red piece of silk that was tightly wrapped around something. Seeing it brought back the memories of what had happened. It brought to my head a thousand questions which would have to wait to be answered. For the time being, however, I would conform with investigating the red silk. I reached towards it, which was not hard, since it was directly next to my head. I slowly unwrapped the object of my curiosity, and uncovered a pair of ballerina shoes: well cared for, yet worn down with age.

"Your mother used to dance when she was your age." A quiete voice ran from the doorway. It sounded thick with emotion, with nostalgia.

The speaker approached the bed, until he entered my line of sight.

"How are you feeling?" He offered me a tentative smile. He was handsome, with dirty blond hair and grey blue eyes. His voice appeared familiar, and it did not take me long to pair him up with the man I had spoken to on the phone. The man my mother refused to talk to. Which reminds me:

"Where is she?"

"In the room next door. She needs to rest."

He seemed to know exactly whom I was talking about.

"You need to rest as well."

My head was spinning. This man knew my mother; knew her well enough to know that she danced when she was younger. He could be her friend. He could give me answers; or he could be one of her enemies.

The stranger seemed to read my mind.

" I won't hurt you Natalia. I would never hurt you." "Do you want to see your mother. She is sleeping now, but she said to wake her as soon as you woke up."

That was strange. I might not have known Natasha Romanov for a very ling time, but I do pride myself in being observant. And my mother is not the type who would fall asleep in the presence of someone whom she did not trust completely. Did she trust this man? And, if so, why did she refuse to speak with him so vehemently.

"No. Let her rest."

He smiled, yet his eyes continued to fill up with unshed tears.

"Okay. Do you need anything?"

"Who are you?"

"Someone who loves your mother very much, and you too."

Then it hit me. My father. He had to be. Yet how? How could he be? Why?

"Are you my father?"

The stranger froze.

"Why don't you rest? We can all talk later."

And he walked away, giving me another smile, but that was the only answer I needed; the only confirmation. He was my father.

 **Please comment. And consider this a mini-chapter :) A sneak peak of what is to come.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello everyone.** **First of all, I want to thank all of you who are still reading my story, especially to those of you who have commented. Those comments make my day.**

 **sweet sunset rain- thank you for your comment. I'm glad you like my portrayal of Clint. I was actually worried about how I was going differentiate the actions of Natasha and Clint towards their daughter. I hope you like the rest of the story.**

 **Also, to the guest that commentented, and the peole who have commented on previous chapters, thank you soooo much for your support! :)**

I soon drifted off to sleep again, and did not wake till the next morning. As my eyes fluttered open, I again became aware of the relic I held within my hands. My mother's dancing shoes.

I quickly glanced around the room to make sure that I was alone, and then began to contemplate the events of the past day.

I had been saved by a man with a bow and arrow, presumably my father, and had discovered an entryway to my mother's past.

"Your mother used to dance when she was your age."

The sentence had probably been uttered without receiving much importance, yet it was so valuable. It was as a treasure among ruins; every detail of it was of importance. The tone with which it was murmured out, with such melancholy. The tentative smile of the speaker, that was offered after its delivery; the very fact that it was a piece of information about my mother's past. Then again, there were thousands upon thousands of questions that were brought forth by such a statement: was the man, indeed, my father? Is he a good man? Why did my mother stop dancing? Why does she refuse to speak to him, yet sleeps in his presence, a sign of complete trust?

The door to the room opened, and my eyes darted towards it. Natasha Romanov, with a bruise under her eye, which seemed an explosion of color upon her very pale skin. She looked at me with a blank expression on her face, yet her mask seemed slightly fractured. More cracks of emotion than usual filtered through, and I could tell that she, though seemingly impossible, did not know how to act. I decided to take the first step:

"Hi."

She acknowledged me only with a curt nod. Another question occurred to me (of the ones that were allowed)

"Where are we?"

My voice sounded strained, unused.

She approached my bed and eased herself unto the chair that was placed next to it.

"In a safe place." She took in a breath.

"You will be staying here until I can deal with the Red Room, until it is safe for you."

"You are leaving?"

"You will be safe here." She repeated.

"Please."

I let the fear creep into my voice. The worry that I would loose her again. I had finally found my mother, and she refused to speak to me any more than what was strictly necessary. And now I would loose her again.

"Please don't leave me."

Her face softened slightly, and I saw again those emotions seeping trough- the absolute sadness that clouded my mother's face, for no longer than 15 seconds at a time.

She looked at me. Only looked, without uttering a word. I felt exposed, naked, before her penetrating gaze, yet felt safe as I was guarded by those forest green eyes, in which you could so easily get lost.

My mom. My mother. It still boggled my mind to know that she was here.

"Please. Don't leave me" again. I did not say the last word, but I know she heard it. She was good at reading people.

I saw a tear drop drip from her eye and run over the yellow- violet collage that adorned her face.

Her hand tentatively reached towards my face and wiped the tears that I had not known I'd shed. At that moment, her phone rang, and the intimacy of the moment was broken, shattered- like so many dreams. Her face sobered and regained its usual unreadable severity.

"Romanoff."

She barked into the phone. The person on the other line would have to clue that she was injured, that she was with her daughter, or even that she had any small measure of sentimentality within her.

She listened intently to the speaker, and then hung up.

"I have to go" she looked at me, and I could swear that she looked apologetic, but the expression in her face had gone so quickly, that I later categorized it as a mirage, a side effect of the discoloration upon her upper cheek.

As she exited the room, the archer entered and held her arm before she crossed the threshold of the door. She did not resist as his eyes searched her, seemingly in nervousness for his deliberate action- holding back the notorios agent Romanov. The tension that set between both their shoulders was palpable. Yet the action did not seem planned, just a mere reflex. A thing of custom which one does automatically. His eyes rested on her lips and then stormy ocean met forest of green and locked together. They looked at each other's eyes so intently, that I believed them capable of telepathy. They stayed in that position for, seemingly, an infinity, and then drifted apart. She continued on her way outside the room, snd he stayed there frozen, watching as she left with an air of nostalgia and fear, which I could understand. He, too, feared not seeing her again.

"Did you sleep well Natalia?" His expression softened when he looked at me, and his eyes focused on the on the pool of tears that welled in mine.

I nodded my head, and he sighed.

"She will be okay you know. I have never known Natsha Romanoff not to be."

I nodded again.

"Are you hungry?"

"No"

He took a step towards me, and my hands tightened around the dancing shoes, which I had not realized I was still holding.

Upon seeing them, he lightly smiled.

"Do you like them?"

I nodded, trying to read him, read his emotions like my mother seemed capable of doing. I was so accustomed to dealing with Natasha's clipped tones, that this man's openness left me wordless.

"What's your name?"

"Clint."

"You are my dad Clint." It wasn't a question, and he it.

He slowly nodded his head, observing my face, hanging on my every expression.

"Is that okay? That I am you dad?" After a breath, but before I could answer

"You don't have to call me that, or acknowledge it, if you rather not. I'm just a stranger that you've never met before."

He seemed pained at his own words.

"But if you would give me a chance, then maybe we can be friends."

I continued to look at him, trying to understand. After I did not answer for a while, he looked down at the floor and turned to leave.

"I do want to know you Clint" I blurted out in urgency. I could not loose him too.

He did not turn back around, but his shoulders relaxed, and his entire person seemed to have been lifted by some divine light.

He nodded his head, and then whispered something, barely audible, before he exited the room.

"I love you солнышко"

 **солнышко- a Russian term of endearment like sweetheart or darling.**

 **Please comment letting me know what you think about the chapter, and answer one question for me: Would you like it if I wrote the next chapter from Clint's point of view, rather than Natalia's, in order to clear some things up?**

 **Have a nice day! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi again. This is another mini-chapter, just because I am really excited with this story. Again, thank you to everyone who has supported me with this story. You are all amazing! Sweet sunset rain, tempestcloud, and guest, thank you for your comments, I hope that you continue to like my story.**

I stayed a bit longer in bed, but, at about 10:30, I decided that it was time to get up. I exited the room and found my way into the kitchen. This house was beautiful, yet completely opposite to the previous one. The majority of the furniture was wooden, and the entire place had the essence of being a hunter's cabin.

When I entered the kitchen, Clint, who had been sitting at the table with a laptop, turned around immediately.

"Natalia!" His face lit up "Do you need anything?" "Would you like some breakfast?"

I considered the question and then nodded my head. Clint set up a place at the table and made me a sandwich, he then filled up a glass with juice and motioned for me to sit down.

As I ate my food, I could not help but stare at him. He was busy again with his laptop, but every few seconds he would glance at me and at the plate.

"Clint." I broke the silence.

"Yes?"

"Could I... could I ask you something?"

He nodded and looked at me expectantly

"You said that, when she was my age, she used to dance and.. and I- uh- I wanted to- to know if. Well..." " I wanted to know-"

"You wanted me to tell you more about her?"

I nodded, thankful for his perceptiveness.

"Well, I did not know her back when she used to dance, but I have heard stories about it over the years."

"When did you meet her?"

"I met her at SHIELD. I'm actually the one who recruited her."

I let that sink in for later use.

"Do you know why she stopped dancing?"

I noticed that his shoulders tensed slightly, but he answered my question nonetheless.

"Because.. dancing was a reminder of her childhood, and- well, her childhood was less than ideal."

"Did she grow up with her parents? My grandparents."

"No"

"And you?"

"No"

I knew that I was probably exceeding my liberties, but I had to know. I craved knowledge- craved to know who they both were.

"So you both grew up at orphanages?"

"Not really" the side of his lip slightly lifted in a half smile "I grew up at the circus"

I smiled at the mental image.

"That is how I learned to use the bow and arrow."

"Can you teach me?" I blurted the words out before even thinking about there implications, and a feeling of dread suddenly overtook me. Was I asking more of him than I should have?

His reaction, however, eased my mind. His face lit up with happiness and excitement.

"Of course" as if it where obvious.

"Do you want to learn now?"

And I found myself nodding fervently and sporting a similarly large smile.

 **Please continue to comment. They make my day, and also motivate me to write faster :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello everyone. I** **hope that you all had a wonderful week, and that you enjoy the next chapter of my little story :). Thanks to everyone who has continued to read this far, especially to those who have taken the time to comment (you have no idea how happy you make me).**

 **Sweet sunset rain: I hope that, by the time you read this chapter, you are feeling better, and I am so happy to have made your day. You definitely made mine :)**

I stayed a bit longer in bed, but, at about 10:30, I decided that it was time to get up. I exited the room and found my way into the kitchen. This house was beautiful, yet completely opposite to the previous one. The majority of the furniture was wooden, and the entire place had the essence of being a hunter's cabin.

When I entered the kitchen, Clint, who had been sitting at the table with a laptop, turned around immediately.

"Natalia!" His face lit up "Do you need anything?" "Would you like some breakfast?"

I considered the question and then nodded my head. Clint set up a place at the table and made me a sandwich, he then filled up a glass with juice and motioned for me to sit down.

As I ate my food, I could not help but stare at him. He was busy again with his laptop, but every few seconds he would glance at me and at the plate.

"Clint." I broke the silence.

"Yes?"

"Could I... could I ask you something?"

He nodded and looked at me expectantly

"You said that, when she was my age, she used to dance and.. and I- uh- I wanted to- to know if. Well..." " I wanted to know-"

"You wanted me to tell you more about her?"

I nodded, thankful for his perceptiveness.

"Well, I did not know her back when she used to dance, but I have heard stories about it over the years."

"When did you meet her?"

"I met her at SHIELD. I'm actually the one who recruited her."

I let that sink in for later use.

"Do you know why she stopped dancing?"

I noticed that his shoulders tensed slightly, but he answered my question nonetheless.

"Because.. dancing was a reminder of her childhood, and- well, her childhood was less than ideal."

"Did she grow up with her parents? My grandparents."

"No"

"And you?"

"No"

I knew that I was probably exceeding my liberties, but I had to know. I craved knowledge- craved to know who they both were.

"So you both grew up at orphanages?"

"Not really" the side of his lip slightly lifted in a half smile "I grew up at the circus"

I smiled at the mental image.

"That is how I learned to use the bow and arrow."

"Can you teach me?" I blurted the words out before even thinking about there implications, and a feeling of dread suddenly overtook me. Was I asking more of him than I should have?

His reaction, however, eased my mind. His face lit up with happiness and excitement.

"Of course" as if it where obvious.

"Do you want to learn now?"

And I found myself nodding fervently and sporting a similarly large smile.

The back end of the arrow brushed my cheek as it swooshed through the air and hit the target, no where near the center, but at least it hit it. The first time I had such luck.

After breakfast, Clint took me to the forest surrounding the safe house, and chose a space that had few trees. He then pained an x on one of them and began teaching me to aim towards it. The feeling of completeness that overtook me was overwhelming. I felt so happy, so relieved. I was finally learning how it felt to have a father. Now I was just missing one more thing... one more person.

Despite my tendency to fail at the sport, Clint wore a grin that reached his ears. He was a patient teacher, and a proud observer.

"Good job! Now just try to aim it slightly more up."

I complied, yet still managed to miss it. He did not seem bothered however, and, honestly, neither was I. I just wanted to enjoy my time with him; converse, learn from him, learn about him.

"Before I went to bed... earlier this morning , before I went to sleep again, you called me something. A name, in another language I think.."

"солнышко" he smiled.

"Yes. What is it?"

"Its Russian. I remember hearing your mom say it. It means darling"

"Could you say it again?"

"солнышко. Sol-nyshka" he repeated slower.

"Sol-nyshka"

I noticed that, when I tried the words in my mouth, his eyes began to water a little, and that led me to a realization: the same way that my mother's stoic composure is a facade, so is my father's playful grin.

They were both miserable, for some reason beyond my comprehension. Something bad had happened in their past, something very bad, but it was not my place to ask.

"So.. you speak Russian?"

"Not really. I know some words... only the ones Tasha has taught me."

"She does speak it then?"

He nodded

"She is Russian." That's where she was born and grew up."

"In an orphanage in Russia?"

He stiffened

"In a way"

We spent some moments in silence, before he spoke again.

"You look a lot like her"

"Thank you"

I knew that there was something he was not telling me about her childhood, but, again, it wasn't my place to ask.

After a while of practicing, we went back to the safe house and he made a lunch/dinner for the two of us, and, after eating, he made a call on his phone.

"Hi. How is everything going?"

"..."

"Did they succeed?"

"..."

He let out a small chuckle.

"I know"

"..."

"She is fine. We went to the forest today, to practice with the bow and arrow."

"..."

"Good, she almost hit the "X" a couple of times."

"..."

Then he sighed and his features twisted in what I could only identify as sadness

"Tasha. Could we..." and he looked at the phone.

She hung up.

"Was it my mom?"

He looked at me sadly and nodded.

"Is she okay?"

"Yes."

"Will she come back?"

"When she finishes what she is doing."

And I nodded. Of course she would not come back. Those people who were following us were very good, there is no way that she will be able to finish them off.

 **Please review and tell me what you think :)**


End file.
